


A World of Her Own

by Eucalyptus



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Pamela Isley - Fandom, Poison Ivy - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eucalyptus/pseuds/Eucalyptus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically my idea of a more realistic Poison Ivy. It's my first try so please tell me what you think!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Pamela Isley, private logs, “dry growth formula” Log #1, Day #1:  
I cannot even begin to express how excited I am about this new project. I have finally been given enough funding to actually achieve my goal. If it succeeds it will be the biggest breakthrough agriculture has ever seen. Imagine what it will do for Africa if I manage to grow something in such harsh conditions. The current goal is to make a water and nutrients substitute, something that can be mass produced and hopefully that the soil will only need one treatment of. The first step is to recreate the same chemical formula that plants get out of fertile soil. Once this is done I will try to make it into liquid form for easy dispersal. Then, assuming the plants grow, all I have to worry about is cost and production.”  
“Pamela Isley, private logs, “dry growth formula” Log #2, Day# 6:  
I have been analysing the best type of soils for growing plants. I have twenty different soil samples and a control group of only ten, which is unfortunate. I have taken all the usual and necessary actions for the experiment; same amount of water dripping in, same amount of sunshine etc. anyway that’s all in my written notes for our benefactor. Clearly I expect the soil containing volcanic ash to thrive the most and the sandier soils to produce less than the rest. Despite this I still need to perform the experiment. I am using strawberries in this instance because of their speed and size. Although more useful plants would bare more accurate results and needed information I just want to get started! Once the fullest possible growth has been established I will rate the soils from one to twenty based on growth speed, foliage, amount of fruit and the same things I always do. Now it’s just a matter of waiting. Jim should be done recording the growth since plantation two days ago; I should go and write up a report for the boss. Ergh, my least favourite part of the job. Hey Jim-.”  
“Pamela Isley, private logs, “dry growth formula” Log #3, Day #13:  
Some of the more fertile soils have already started to sprout. It really is just a matter of waiting for the results. In the meantime I have been studying the soils and figuring out their exact mineral composition. It’s a slow process but once I have my list from one to twenty it will be easier to figure out which minerals cause the plants to either suffer or thrive. I plan on- So Pammy about that date? Jim please stop calling me that and I told you I’m far too busy here. Oh come on Pam Pam, I’ll be great; I’ll rock your world, promise. Jim I hate ‘Pam Pam” even more. How many times do I have to say no? I’ve told you I don’t date co-workers EVER. But have you ever had a co-worker as charming and handsome as me. Not to mention the fa- Hey is that thing on Pam? What thing?... Oh damn, sorry. Hang o-.”

“Pamela Isley, private logs, “dry growth formula” Log #4, Day #20:  
Some of the plants are still growing in the less fertile soils and I have made significant progress with the mineral research. I hate all this waiting but even if I figured it out right this minute it would still be years of testing, but just to know that I could do it, that one day… What am I saying? If anyone can do this it’s me. I still have eight more soil compositions left to go but it’s so dull and time consuming, I have Jim helping me of course. I wish the boss would stretch the budget for another person but I know he’s right when he says it’s better spent on the actual re- So Pam co- No. Aw you didn’t eve- No. But I- No. Come o- NO. OUT. Plea-OUT. What was I saying...? Damn it. Anyway there wasn’t much to report in the first place. Over and out.”  
“Pamela Isley, private logs “dry growth formula” Log #5 Da-.”  
“What? No, please.” Pamela listened to her own voice through the distortion of her recorder rewinding “Please be here, please, please, please.”  
“NO. OUT. Plea-OUT. What was I saying? Damn it. Anyway there wasn’t much to report in the first place. Over and out.” Pamela threw the device at the wall, realising her mistake to late. The recorder bounced off the wall and landed on the sofa. The tape case lid had popped open, it looked alright but she was almost too scared to check. Slowly rising from her position on the floor her legs almost gave way. Pamela liked to sit down on her legs and then slowly sink down until her legs were to either side of her and her buttocks touched the ground. A lot of people could not even achieve this position let alone be comfortable but Pamela loved it. She would lean forward sometimes, mainly when she was reading or writing balancing on her elbows, her bum slightly sticking up. Jim used to say it made her look like a cat… but that was in the past now. That was ‘before.’  
Pam made her way to the couch which she never used, tentatively walking on her toes first before putting her heel down. She was naked apart from the silkiest and softest underwear she could find. The dress she had worn out, a gift from... was it mark? Lay in the corner near the door where she had thrown it off. Through the windows the moonlight only just illuminated her, her long red her almost, but not quite covering her backside. She paused before the couch looking down at herself, at her scars. She could see the line up her stomach, going over the side of her breasts; she unconsciously felt the connecting line on her side, almost on her back. Not that she could actually feel it anymore, but you could still see it. What had once been a burning mark, a horrid dead grey, green colour where it looked like the skin had bubbled away, was now a smooth, silky and only slightly green patch of skin. Her hand went up to touch the small dots on the side of her face and neck, usually covered by her hair. She shut her eyes for only a moment, remembering, before shaking her head as if to forget.  
When Pam realised what tape she was up to her heart fluttered and a lump slid down her throat, not seeming to want to go away. She took a deep breath and tried to force herself to hit the playback button. The recorder itself had been fine but the tape inside had been thrown out and smashed against the wall and then the floor. Thankfully the last few recordings were on a second tape which was listening to now. She had listened to all but one, she had even listened to the part where she and Jim had made love, in fact that’s what took up most of the space on the tape. She listened to the parts where she became frustrated with going nowhere and she listened to Jim’s soothing voice calming her rage. She listened to the subtle noise of a kiss on the cheek as she talked, a hug more like a tackle and worst of all Jims bad jokes that she never used to find funny but now made her laugh so much she cried. She listened again and again until she realised she was no longer listening, just skipping the parts until his voice came back. The realisation that after all this time she loved him just as much was like she had just physically ripped her own heart out. Pamela Isley, the woman who prided herself on her own strength found herself broken on the floor, with salty tears dried on her lips, unable to press play.

It had been two days since Pamela had listened to the tapes and almost every day she got home she sat on the floor not pressing play. On the third day she came close, telling herself she had to but remembering why she could not. She lay awake in bed, the blankets thrown to the floor as usual, she glistened with sweat as the sunlight seemed to radiate through the window in its brightness. Pam found herself panting and realised she must have been dreaming again, if you could call it that. She wondered what it actually was this time, the vague delusional memories she has, or worse, what had actually been happening.  
Not bothering to put on clothes, she walked slowly to the window; it seemed she did everything slowly nowadays. She opened the door to the balcony and lay amongst her plants, the damp soil clinging to her body and the rich smell filling her nostrils. She lay for hours basking in the sun and the smell of her plants slowly becoming more into focus as the earth smell faded, the faint whiff of jasmine and then the sweet almost cloying smell of honeysuckle. One by one each plant came and went until she felt her pale skin begin to burn. The first thing she had done when moving into the apartment, located in an expensive building and on the highest level, was to fill the balcony with the best soil money could buy and slowly fill it with flowers and small shrubs. Regretfully it was not deep enough for trees but she made do in the courtyard, not that she was, technically, allowed to. The balcony whoever was only hers, no one hanging around just her and her plants. Once again she mentally thanked Anthony Garcia for buying it for her, what a fool he was.  
She perched herself on the edge of the small pool she had, watching the waterlilies in their slight movements before delving in. The clear cool water slowly washed away the soil from outside and she watched it slowly sink downwards. She tried once again to pat one of the fish but as usual it was only the koi that even swam near her. Sometimes they rubbed up against her legs and reminded her of cats wanting attention. Finally clear of her morning depression she dried off in the sun and went to her wardrobe. She looked at the dark red dress with the plunging neckline and clinging fabric, knowing she had to wear it but knowing how it would feel on her skin, against her scar. She put it on in disgust, but if she was to get what she wanted then the man her had brought it for her, John Walters, would have to get what he wanted to and Pamela always got what she wanted.  
She met John at a hotel again this time; she wished his wife would go on one of her trips again so she could access his computer. John Walters was a weedy man with long but balding hair; to begin with he had been a nervous and uncomfortable man, always sweaty and constantly fidgeting. Now he looked much the same but with Pamela he was confident, in her love for him as well as his control over her. All was a lie of course; Pamela could change into a dominatrix at the drop of a hat if she wanted to. In fact sometimes she had to, it’s hard stringing so many men along but she needed their money, codes and information and unfortunately she wasn’t a master thief. She had been working on John for a long time, playing the shy and insecure little rich girl. He had taken to her simply because his wife was the opposite; always telling him exactly what to do and never letting him touch her. So Pamela was quite, subservient and always willing, wanting and to please. John was important because he designed weapons. Not guns or ammo, but bombs and warheads and she knew she would need them, if only as a threat. It would take a while, but she would get there.


	2. Chapter 2

Pamela pushed her apartment door open, basically with her bum, she dumped the shopping onto the bench with her bag. Slipping out of her dress she left it in an oval shape on the floor where it landed, opening the fridge and putting away the little food she had, most days she got taken out for dinner or lunch and filled up on that. Even though men brought her clothes and paid for her apartment she had very little money, she couldn’t actually ask for it after all. Most of her money came from the jewellery she was given that she wore once for show and then sold. She had little need for money and patiently waited for the day when it wouldn’t be needed at all. Walking to the balcony she passed through the lounge room, the little recorder sitting in the middle of the room as if challenging her. She took a deep breath and kicked it under the couch, like that would help her forget about it.   
Very suddenly Pamela had the urge to give up. She walked to the pool and dived in, closing her eyes and curling into a ball. The cool water over her skin seemed to numb her mentally as well as physically and she felt like she was drifting to sleep. Then she found she wanted to, she opened her eyes and the blackness at the bottom of the pool called to her very soul. She longed to swim deeper and to sink further into oblivion. Realising she never had a chance to achieve her goal her body physically ached to delve further into the darkness. Slowly, as she started losing air and buoyancy, she felt herself sinking. She could no longer feel, no longer see and she no longer thought. She seemed to become part of the water and moved with it, the koi came to her unnoticed, seeming to rest on her stomach before swimming away.   
“help us” Pamela’s eyes fluttered open and she opened her mouth to say what and water slipped into her mouth, not filling it but causing her to splutter. She no longer knew which way was up or down and she decided it wasn’t worth the effort; she was in too much pain, for the second time that night she decided to die.  
“help us” she kicked at the plants wrapped around her legs and tried to find a way up, there was no light above and she was lost. Her bod had taken over and she thrashed about, trying to escape. Her head broke through the surface and she sucked in as much air as possible before realising she was no longer holding herself up and she sank back down.   
“help us” her head hit the side of the pool and she ran her hand up it grasping at the side with all her strength. She clung to this side, gulping down air and rolled onto the floor laying on her back and couching out water. Her body felt so weak she was unable to move and she felt she would lie here forever.  
“HELP US” all weariness flooded from her body and Pamela sprang up, limbs flying as she ran to her plants, her babies that needed her.  
“HELP US HELP US HELP US” the voice screamed in her head, so intensely that she covered her ears with her hands. She fell to the soil surrounded by her plants, her children. The voice stopped but Pamela howled, she would never abandon them again, never, never, never. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…. Deep down the woman she used to be knew it wasn’t real, that the voice was a delusion, but the rest of her overtook it, the truth was something she could not face.

Pamela woke up in a ball, the faint moonlight almost blinding her. She was caked in dried mud and it cracked and flaked as she moved into a sitting position. She felt groggy and everything has hazy, remembering the night earlier she mentally scorned herself. She would not let anything like that happen again. Things were going to work out; she just had to listen to that damned tape. After her recent trauma she knew she couldn’t handle it tonight. Not bothering to clean herself off she slowly crawled into bed lying between two thin silk sheets. Her “bed” was essentially a mattress on the floor with a head board. Her hands traced over the cold, harsh metal leaves and between the creases in the twisted vines, sighing as she drifted into sleep.  
For once she had pleasant dreams, Jim Dreams, she laughed to herself. It was their one year anniversary and they had taken the weekend off, the formula was well underway and they were only waiting for results anyway. They had driven down the coast to the beach, lay in the sun and splashed in the sea. Jim had proposed to her and she had found herself saying yes before she even realised he had asked her. They made love in the sand and Jim had said he would never let her go, that they would lay there forever. Pamela wished they had. Even though nothing like it had ever happened she knew her dream was of that day. They were in the ocean; fish and turtles swam up to them, then dolphins and whales and every other sea creature they all swam around together. She said how beautiful the animals were and Jim said mmm, best dinner I’ll ever have. It was such a Jim thing to say that she could almost believe it had happened if it hadn’t been so fantastical. “You always did have the worst sense of humour.” She said to her empty apartment, laughing to herself all the same.   
Pamela made her way to the pool, diving between sheets of the cool, murky water. Standing in the sun to dry she realised she was too hungry. Lines of water followed the contours of her body before dripping onto her floorboards, leaving splattery footprints through the lounge and into the kitchen. Pamela opened the fridge to reveal its almost non-existent contents. All she had bought last shopping trip had been cheese slices, milk and tubs of yoghurt. Peeling the plastic off the cheese she folded it into quarters and put it in her mouth whole as she walked to the balcony. She walked across the spongy soil, squelching it between her toes as she bent to pick a handful of strawberries. She leant against the window and enjoyed the over-sweetness of the fruit, the juice running over her lips, down her chin and dripping onto her chest. She laughed at her own messiness and ran a finger over her body, collecting the juice and licking it up. She felt satisfied but her stomach still felt empty, she was used to however and regretted the fact that she didn’t have either a lunch or dinner date today.   
Having no plans for the day Pamela turned on the huge sound system that had come with the apartment. She flicked the switch for the radio and danced around the apartment, singing badly into her hairbrush. It had been so long since she had just relaxed that she collapsed onto the bed laughing. She got up again when a song she liked came on; she was dancing in front of the mirror doing the cheesiest Elvis renditions in her underwear when the doorbell rang. Funny, she thought, no one had been to visit her since the Mayor had bought the place for her. She chucked on the nearest piece of clothing she could find and turned the music off as she walked to the door.   
“Can I help you?” She asked, still smiling and slightly out of breath.   
“Hi, sorry, I live downstairs and i…” The man in front of her was tall and well built without being overly muscly; he had a handsome face, despite overly strong features. He nervously ran his hand through his black hair and his green eyes shifted, nervously looking at the ground below him.  
“And you, what?” Pamela questioned.   
“I’m sorry, it’s just that you, er, you umm…” He stumbled over his words, not seeming to be able to think of what came next.   
“Are you alright?”  
“Umm, you’re well. I can see, you’re er… you’re naked.” He blushed, turning his pale skin the colour of the strawberries she had eaten for breakfast. Pamela looked down at herself, the ‘clothes’ she had put on was in actual fact a transparent nightgown that not only revealed but enhanced every part of her. She laughed at herself and he began to join her, still looking at the floor.   
“I’m so sorry, I’ll go put something on, make yourself comfortable.”  
“Oh no, I-” He spluttered, but she had already walked off, seemingly unaware of the fact that he could now see her behind. He couldn’t help but notice her perfect hourglass figure; the fabric clung to her tiny waist and then stretched over her arse, swishing as she walked into the other room. He forced his eyes away and walked over to the couch. Pamela thought about the shy and handsome man in her lounge room. She knew he had just come to ask her to turn the music down, but she was lonely. She could talk to her plants all she liked but sometimes she wanted something that talked back. She hated all the men she dated, they were all so easily manipulated and even though this is why she chose them, she hated them for it. This man was something new and she wondered if they could be friends. She hadn’t had one of those since… since Jim.   
She walked through her wardrobe wondering what to put on. Her eyes passed over the black leather outfit in the corner; it seemed to be made entirely of straps and studs. There was a whole section of similar items that the good old Mayor had brought for her, she imagined the reaction she would get if she walked out with that on and had to hold herself up on the shelf as she shock with laughter. It was almost too tempting to resist but she managed. She was just a friendly neighbour and she needed to look like it. Pamela picked out a loose, floral print dress which she felt unattractive in. She had to be sure she wasn’t sexy, she wanted him as a friend and that couldn’t happen if he was trying to sleep with her.   
Henry fidgeted on the couch as he tried to get comfortable in such an odd place. The room he was in looked almost unused. It had lovely modern furniture and a huge TV but all of it looked untouched. The room felt empty and cold, he felt like he was trespassing. There wasn’t a single trace of dirt anywhere but the tables had a faint layer of dust. He had been curious about this woman ever since he looked at her and the room just intrigued him more.   
“Can I get you something to drink?” The voice distracted him from his thoughts and he looked up startled.   
“Erm, coffee?”   
“Actually I just realised I have water or… water.” He could tell she felt embarrassed and it made him feel even more uncomfortable.   
“Water is fine but I actually just came to-”  
“Juice! I have oranges around here somewhere, you like juice right?” She walked into the kitchen and Henry noticed her odd way of walking, toes first. It stretched her already long legs out and he followed them up to the hem of her dress. It came halfway down her thighs and brushed against them, swaying with her arse which was just visible under her long red hair. Everything about this woman was arousing and he had trouble concentrating on anything but her body. He reminded himself that he had a girlfriend whom he loved and screwed his eyes up. Realising he had been sitting out here for too long he followed her into the kitchen.   
“Do you need a hand?”  
“No I just, can’t remember where-” When Henry walked into the kitchen Pamela was bent over, looking in the bottom of the fridge. Her dress had ridden up to just under her bum and the fabric was pulled tight over it. He walked over to her and pushed the dress further up over her waist, his fingers brushing over her hips and his palms on her arse. She jumped up and turned in surprise, he put a finger over her mouth before pushing his lips into her plump, wet mouth. She stiffened under him but then seemed to melt as he pushed his hips towards her, his hard cock pressing against her flat stomach. He pulled her away from the fridge, towards the bench and picked her up around her waist, sitting her on it. His hands slid further up her body, sliding the dress over her head where it fell on the bench. Her breasts heaved as he slid of her red panties, parting her legs with his knee. He kissed down her smooth neck down to her breasts where he took of her matching red bra and kissed her perky little nipples, grabbing at her perfect tits. He slid his fingers into her wet, little-  
“Hello? You never answered me; you do want juice, right?” Henry muttered something along the lines of yes as he felt the red hotness of embarrassment make its way up his face. “My name is Pamela by the way.”  
“Henry” was about all he could manage and he felt himself grow hotter as she looked up at him, smiling but with a questioning look in her eyes. She must think he was a complete idiot. Pamela had started to cut and juice the oranges and he tried to ignore the way her breasts pushed together as she used the juicer. Henry retreated back into the lounge room and sat on the couch waiting for his blush to fade.   
Back in the kitchen Pamela finished with the oranges and dumped the peels into her compost bin. Henry was very lucky to have left when he did because Pamela licked the juice off her fingers without a second thought, before rinsing them under the tap. She came back into the lounge room, placing the glasses on the coffee table and automatically going to sit on the floor before realising it would be inappropriate and sitting on the couch. She tucked her legs up under her and faced Henry. “So, what do you do?”  
“I’m a biologist, what about you?” He asked, glad that she was on the other side of the couch, but still very aware of her smell. It was something he couldn’t quite place but he already associated it with her and thinking of her automatically made him think of his little daydream.  
“That’s funny, I’m a botanist.” She said smiling; glad that he was an intellectual that would be able to understand her if she talked about her work, or the work she would make up anyway. Henry was equally relieved when Pamela told him; most people he knew didn’t understand his work. This was mainly because of his girlfriend Penny, not that she was dumb, just that she wasn’t a scientist.   
“You do know I just came over to ask you to turn the music down, right?” Pamela wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that without sounding like a complete loser. Instead she decided to spill her orange juice all over the place, which unintentionally included Henry’s pants.   
“Oh crap, I’m so sorry. Hang on; I’ll get a towel or something.” Pamela ran into the kitchen to get a towel, or something, while Henry had an inner battle. Henry had seen enough movies to know that this was a move. She was trying to sleep with him! At first he was as ecstatic as a baby discovering his own hands, and then he remembered Penny. He remembered that he loved her, that they had been together for a year and that he wasn’t a cheater, nor did he intend to be. Henry went through a number of scenarios in his head before deciding on the only logical course of action.  
Pamela searched the kitchen for a towel, or something. She tried to remember where the tea towels were but couldn’t. Instead she was forced to search all the cupboards and drawers, most of which were empty, until finally she found them in the drawer next to the oven. Coming back from the kitchen triumphant Pamela chucked the tea towel at Henry, where it landed on the empty couch.   
“Henry?” she said to the empty apartment, looking for Henry but only finding the door swinging open from when Henry had apparently fled.


End file.
